


The Kings: Top or Bottom?

by jaydee09



Series: Two Kings [16]
Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Anal Sex, Arguments, Bottom Thorin/Thranduil, Humour, M/M, Top Thorin/Thranduil
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-29
Updated: 2014-10-29
Packaged: 2018-02-23 03:48:54
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,741
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2533022
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jaydee09/pseuds/jaydee09
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>So what are they arguing about now?  This time it concerns who goes on the top and who on the bottom.  Perhaps Dwalin can come to their aid, otherwise it might be the end of a beautiful relationship, LOL!</p><p>This is story 16 in my Two Kings saga.  The very first one is King of the Antlered Throne and the one just before this is The Kings and the Forges.  They can all be read as stand-alone stories but I hope you manage to read them all.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Kings: Top or Bottom?

 

 

The Kings: Top or Bottom?

 

Pt I

 

Which Way Up?

 

Thorin was bent over the bed with his face rather uncomfortably buried in the feather mattress, whilst Thranduil thrust into him faster and faster and ever more roughly.  And, although the elven king’s hand reached around him and grasped his swollen member, when the elf came violently and with a triumphant shout, Thorin failed to come with him.  He could hardly breathe, for one thing, and he was feeling rather sore for another.

 

Thranduil didn’t seem to notice but collapsed upon Thorin’s back, forcing the dwarf’s face even deeper into the bedding.  Thorin tossed him off with a powerful twitch of his shoulders and Thranduil rolled over onto the sheets with a satisfied smirk.  “That was good,” he said, yawning languidly and reaching for a towel.  His eyelids began to flutter and Thorin dug him in the ribs.

 

“What’s the matter?” asked the elf sleepily as he snuggled into a soft pillow.  “Didn’t you come again?   That’s the third time this week.”  And he stretched languorously like a satisfied cat.

 

“Well,” replied Thorin, doing his best to control his temper, “I think that even you might find it difficult to come if I had a grip on your neck and was forcing your face so hard into the mattress that you couldn’t breathe!”

 

“Sorry,” murmured Thranduil, not sounding sorry at all, “but I just got a bit carried away.”  And he began to snore.

 

Thorin shook him angrily.  “And you hurt me!” he growled.  “And, funnily enough, I’m not the sort to find pain orgasmic!”

 

Thranduil opened one eye and looked indignant.  “How come I hurt you?  You’ve never complained before.”  And he managed to make it sound as if it must be all Thorin’s fault.

 

The dwarf sat up in bed and folded his arms across his chest.  “Perhaps it’s something to do with the fact that you’ve fucked me solid for three weeks and I’m feeling rather sore.”

 

“Well,” said the elf, as though his lover were complaining unfairly, “I like being on top.”

 

“And so do I,” snapped Thorin.  “But why on earth do you think you’re more entitled to that position than me?”

 

Thranduil didn’t answer but lowered his gaze.  The dwarf was furious.  “You don’t need to answer!  Your silence says it all!  You are the great elven king of Mirkwood and I am a mere dwarf.  Thus, superior people deserve to take the superior position.  You’re just too arrogant, Thranduil, for this relationship to work fairly for both of us!”  And, getting up from the bed, he flung on his clothes and strode from the room.

 

The elf groaned.  Thorin was being really difficult.  Perhaps he would be in a better mood by tomorrow morning, but, at the moment, he really needed a good night’s sleep.  And Thranduil pushed any guilty thoughts to one side and soon fell into unconsciousness.

 

.o00o.

 

Pt II

 

Friendly Advice

 

Thorin stomped down to the dining hall and found himself a nice, dark corner.  It was very late but there were always a few dwarves there drinking the night away.  He gestured to a passing servant to bring him a goblet of wine and then glowered into his cup.  Thranduil’s arrogance had always been a problem, ever since he had first met him.  And now, more and more of late, he was translating this arrogance to the bedroom.  They were both kings; they were both equal; they both had dominant personalities.  There should be a bit of give and take in the bedroom, surely?  But, no.  As far as the elf was concerned, he was the fucker and Thorin was the fuckee.  And  for 3 weeks now, Thorin had been on the bottom.  It had got to the point where the dwarf wasn’t prepared to take it any more.  Well, his backside wasn’t, anyway.

 

“What’s the matter, Thorin?” said a deep voice.  And the king looked up to see Dwalin looming over him.

 

Thorin pulled a face.  “Guess,” he muttered.  And he gestured to his friend to join him at the table.

 

“You’ve had a row with Thranduil,” snorted the great dwarf, sitting down opposite.  “What else could it be?”

 

“Got it in one,” was the bad-tempered retort.

 

“So, what was it about this time?  Is he jealous of you again?”

 

“I wish it were that simple,” sighed Thorin.  “But this is a very basic sexual difference we share and I suppose I shouldn’t gossip about it.  But, thank you for your concern.”

 

Dwalin just waved this away with an impatient gesture.  “Stop being so mealy-mouthed, Thorin.  If you can’t talk to me, who can you talk to?”

 

“Well,” said Thorin reluctantly because he was dying to discuss things with someone, “there are people who might consider this too private to share with anyone.”

 

“But I’m not anyone,” replied the dwarf.  And when his king still looked doubtful, he made a stab in the dark.  “Let’s see,” he mused, his mouth turning up in a suggestive grin, “a sexual difference, hey?  I suppose that he wants to be on top but you don’t want to be on the bottom.”

 

Thorin gave a sharp laugh.  “You’ve been listening at our bedroom door, haven’t you?  How else would you have known?”

 

Dwalin flushed a little and cleared his throat.  “And if I wasn’t listening at bedroom doors, perhaps I have guessed the truth of it because I know you so well.”

 

Thorin nodded.  His friend loved him and they had known each other for two hundred years.  Of course Dwalin could guess what his problem was.

 

“The two of you are both the same: you both like being in charge and bending people to your will.  Neither of you are exactly submissive.  So, why don’t you take turns?”

 

“Precisely my opinion,” replied the king.  “And, until relatively recently, we used to.  It’s not that I object to being on the bottom sometimes – it can be quite arousing, especially when he hits the spot – but I also have a strong desire to be on top…….and you know from personal experience that I’m quite good at that,” he added.

 

Dwalin went quiet and looked down at his big hands.  “That’s a bit cruel,” he murmured, “when you know how hard I am trying to get over that night.”  And he allowed himself to remember for a moment those hours that his king had spent inside him when Thorin had been looking for a bit of comfort and Dwalin had submitted totally to his will.  He looked up: “Those were the best hours of my life,” he said.  “But they will never happen again and I would prefer it if you didn’t refer to it so flippantly.”

 

Thorin was immediately remorseful and he reached out to touch Dwalin’s arm apologetically.  “I didn’t mean to sound flippant,” he said.  “That night, you were there for me – a true friend – and we were perfect together.”  And then he sighed.  “If only Thranduil would submit to me with the same enthusiasm, then our love life would be perfect too.”

 

Dwalin gently withdrew his arm from Thorin’s touch because it hurt too much to be caressed by him.  It was better that he kept his distance.  And then he laughed as an idea came into his mind.  “If you want my advice,” he grinned, “then I think it’s best to give into Thranduil’s demands and be the perfect submissive.”

 

“Never!” exclaimed Thorin.  “I refuse to let him have his way!”

 

Dwalin winked.  “But there is more than one way of tackling this difference, my king,” he said.

 

Thorin paused and thought for a bit.  And then he grinned too.  “Could work,” he said.

 

Dwalin nodded gleefully.  “Come and spend the night with me – I’ll sleep on the sofa,” he added hastily.”

 

“No, I’ll sleep on the sofa,” said his king firmly.  “You’ve already done too much for me.  And then, tomorrow morning, we shall talk through some ideas.”

 

Dwalin slept very little, knowing that Thorin was almost within touching distance, and he spent hours tossing and turning and remembering their passionate night together.  He finally fell asleep just before dawn and was eventually awoken by the king bringing him breakfast.  Then the two sat down and put their heads together as they planned to save Thorin and Thranduil’s relationship.

 

.o00o.

 

 Pt III

 

At Your Service!

 

When Thorin failed to make an appearance the next morning, Thranduil descended to the dining hall early to look for him.  This argument was so silly, he thought.  It wasn’t as if Thorin hated being on the bottom – he usually seemed to have a good time.  Well, I certainly do when he’s on the bottom, he grinned to himself – and then he felt a bit selfish.  But, as an elf, he was taller, wasn’t he? And this meant that they fitted together better that way.  Well, _he_ felt perfectly comfortable.  And Thorin’s member was much larger than his own.  How come, he thought with irritation, the dwarf was shorter but bigger?  Who knew?  But, if Thorin was complaining about feeling sore, how much more sore would he himself feel after a succession of encounters with such a large prick?  It wasn’t as if he didn’t agree to go on the bottom sometimes – and he had to admit that it was a very satisfying sensation.   And…..it wasn’t that he didn’t enjoy it physically, it was because……because…..  And then he rolled his eyes.  Yes, it was because elves were superior to dwarves.  Sorry, Thorin, but he just knew they were.  And if any of his court ever found out that he allowed the dwarf to climb on top of him for a screw, then he would never live it down.

 

He looked around the hall and couldn’t see him.  Well, when he did, he would be very nice to him: he would sweet-talk him and persuade him that this was best for both of them.  And then he would make love to him very gently – where was that pot of special salve he used to have? – and everything would be all right in the world again.

 

He stopped a passing servant and asked if he had seen his king.  The dwarf helpfully told him that Thorin had disappeared off with Dwalin late last night and then was puzzled as to why the elf’s brows contracted angrily.

 

Thranduil marched off to Dwalin’s apartments wondering what he would find there.  Had Thorin stayed the night with him?  In his bed?  And then he paused in his suspicious thoughts.  He was being totally unfair.  Dwalin was Thorin’s friend – and had been a friend to the elf, too - and, if it hadn’t been for Dwalin reading them both the riot act after their last stupid argument, then his relationship with the dwarf might have finished there and then.  He stopped outside Dwalin’s door, took a deep, calming breath and then knocked.

 

Dwalin opened the door and then said, innocently: “Are you looking for Thorin?  He said you had had a row and so he stayed the night.  I gave him a good talking to and he’s gone back to your apartment.  You’ve just missed him.”

 

“Thanks,” said Thranduil, all suspicions fading away.  And off he set for their shared rooms.

 

He flung open the door of the apartment…..and then paused – agog – on the threshold. Thorin was busy tidying, making everything neat, plumping up the cushions and arranging a bunch of flowers he had acquired from somewhere.    Not something he normally did.  And….his clothes…… His breeches were made of velvet and in a soft shade of powder blue.  The masculine linen shirt he normally wore had been replaced by ….something….made of silk with a plunging neckline which was decorated with a frill.  It looked more like a woman’s blouse.  Thorin looked up with gladness in his eyes when he heard the door open.  “Thranduil!” he said, smiling softly. And he walked towards the elf and laid his shaggy head upon his lover’s breast.  “I’m so sorry,” he continued, sliding his arms about his waist.  “That was very silly of me last night and I want to apologise.”

 

Thranduil grinned over his head, clasping him in his arms and twisting a length of his long, dark hair between his fingers.  It wasn’t often that Thorin apologised first.  Then he seized him by the shoulders and held the dwarf away from him.  “What on earth are you wearing?” he asked.

 

“Oh, don’t you like it?” asked Thorin, looking disappointed.  I thought it looked rather fine.”  And he gently stroked the material on one leg.  “I borrowed the outfit from Dwalin’s wardrobe when I needed fresh clothes this morning.  Not what I normally wear, but perhaps I need a new image.”  And he looked up into Thranduil’s face, anxiously seeking his approval.

 

“ _Dwalin!_ ” exclaimed the elven king.  “When has Dwalin ever worn anything like this?”

 

“Well, perhaps he wears such things privately,” answered Thorin seriously.  “They’re very comfortable, you know.”

 

For more reasons than one, Thranduil was keen to remove the offending garments; and so he reached out and began to undo the buttons of Thorin’s silk ‘shirt’.  “No, “ said Thorin softly, “don’t take that off: I like the feeling of it against my skin.  It’s quite erotic, you know.”  Then when Thranduil pulled a face, he began to unbutton his breeches.  “But you’re welcome to remove these,” he said with a smile.

 

The elven king was not slow to respond to the invitation and soon the awful blue breeches were lying on the floor.  He covered Thorin’s mouth with his own and the dwarf, clinging tightly to Thranduil’s neck, lifted his legs from the floor and wrapped them firmly around the elf’s slim waist.  Gasping with desire, the king staggered across the room with Thorin attached like a limpet to him and fell upon the bed.  His erection pressed hard between the dwarf’s buttocks but, remembering their argument, he hesitated for a moment: “Are you sure?” he asked.

 

Thorin’s long, dark eyelashes fluttered provocatively against his pale skin.  “Yes, now,” he sighed.  “Take me now.  I want to belong completely to you!”  And Thranduil thrust fiercely into him.

 

But, as he pounded Thorin’s body, the elf couldn’t help but be distracted by the pretty, frilly – feminine - shirt fluttering so inappropriately upon the hairy chest heaving under his nose.

 

.o00o.

 

Pt III

 

The Things You Can Do With Sugar!

 

A few hours later, Thorin was sighing over the silk shirt that had finally been ripped from his body and was lying in shreds on the floor.  “You’re such a brute,” he said with a coy simper, “but I shan’t protest too much and any time you want to have your wicked way with me, you naughty elven king, I‘m all yours.”  Then he gave a little giggle.  And if Thranduil hadn’t been so tired and exhausted by his efforts then he would have perhaps registered more strongly that Thorin was talking and acting in rather a strange way.  Instead, that information was tucked away somewhere at the back of his brain for him to worry about much later.

 

But, it was still only morning and he soon pulled himself together and went for a bath, leaving Thorin asleep on the bed.  When he was dressed, he woke the dwarf with a kiss.  “I’m off to the Library,” he said, “and I shan’t be back until late this afternoon.”  Thorin mumbled a sleepy goodbye, but, the minute that Thranduil was gone, he leaped out of bed himself, bathed and got ready.  Then he sent a servant with a brief note to Dwalin, saying that the coast was clear, after which he waited impatiently for his friend to turn up.

 

When Dwalin arrived, he was carrying a mystery package.  “You got it, then?” grinned his king.

 

“Yes,” was the response.  “I went into Dale first thing this morning.” 

 

Then Thorin cleared the dining table and covered it with a fresh cloth.  Dwalin, meanwhile, went over to the hearth where he emptied the contents of his package into a pot which he set over the flames.

 

It didn’t take long before he looked up and told Thorin that things appeared to be ready.  Then, with a grimace, Thorin stripped off completely and lay face down on the table.  Dwalin picked up the pot and stirred its contents with a spatula; then he hovered over his king.  He hesitated for a moment because Thorin’s round buttocks were just so – squeezable.  But, then he mentally shook himself.  No, he mustn’t go down that road but concentrate on the task in hand.

 

“I’ll just have a trial run first,” he rumbled.  “The woman in Dale gave me a demonstration but I’m sure it hurts even when done by an expert.”

 

Thorin gritted his teeth: “Just get on with it,” he muttered.

 

Dwalin painted the sugar solution onto the hairiest part of his lord’s back, down at the base of the spine.  Then they waited.  “Ready?” he finally asked.  Thorin grunted and the big dwarf got hold of one end of the strip and ripped the toffee-like substance off, quickly and surprisingly efficiently for someone who had never done it before.  Thorin yelled at the top of his lungs.  “Don’t be such a baby!” said Dwalin sternly.  “Worse things happen at sea.”

 

.o00o.

 

For the next hour, the apartment rang with sounds of agony. Especially when Thorin had to lie on his back whilst Dwalin worked carefully around his genitals.  “It’s at times like this,” he moaned, “that I wonder if Thranduil is really worth it.”

 

Well, the big dwarf didn’t think the elf was, but he wasn’t saying anything.

 

Afterwards, he covered Thorin in cold, wet towels for a time to soothe his burning skin and then he rubbed a salve all over him.  (That was the enjoyable bit, he grinned to himself.)

 

When he was finished, he stood back and studied the strange, white, naked creature that lay before him.  “You look so – weird.  Not like a dwarf any more.”

 

“Good!” retorted Thorin.  “That’s the whole point.”  And he got up and stared at himself for a long time in the mirror.  “And, if he doesn’t find that disturbing …….”

 

.o00o.

 

Pt IV

 

Where Has My Thorin Gone?

 

When Thranduil got back from the Library early that evening, he found Thorin floating around in a sensuous silken gown.  Quite elven, he thought approvingly.  And if it hadn’t been time to go down to dine, he would have torn it off him.  Instead, he pulled him into his arms and, kissing his neck, he murmured into his ear: “Shouldn’t you get changed so that we can go down for a quick dinner?  I can’t wait to get back for dessert.”

 

Thorin chuckled softly: “I thought you might be – hungry,” he replied, “which is why I have asked a servant to set out food in the bedroom.”  And he took the elf by the hand and led him into the adjacent room where a table had been laid with a cold collation and bowls of fruit.

 

Thranduil laughed gleefully and, picking up the dwarf in his arms, threw him onto the bed.  “You guess my needs before I even know them myself,” he said.  “But, tonight, I think I feel like having you first before I have my dinner.”  And he pushed up the silken gown to Thorin’s waist……and then froze in horror.

 

He spluttered for a moment and then ran a hand up Thorin’s smooth thigh.  “What…..what have you done?” he finally got out.  Then he ripped open the front of the garment and gawped at his chest.

 

“Good, isn’t it?” said the dwarf with a smirk.  “It took all afternoon to achieve that.”  And he seized the hem of the gown and tugged it over his head.  Then he lay there in all his glory.

 

“I…I don’t believe it,” the elven king gasped at last.

 

“Yes, it is pretty unbelievable, isn’t it?” said Thorin smugly.  And he ran his hands appreciatively over his now hairless form.

 

Thranduil could only stutter.  “What…what on earth persuaded you to do _that_?”

 

Thorin drew him gently into his arms and, with a pleased expression on his face, began to explain.  “You see, I decided that we couldn’t carry on arguing about who went on the top and who on the bottom.  Our disagreement yesterday really upset me and I decided that, if it were so very important to you that I went underneath and yet I was finding that difficult to accept, I had to get myself in the _mood_ somehow.”  And a delighted grin spread over his face.  “And, after talking with Dwalin half the night, I realised that it was my dwarven masculinity and pride that were getting in the way.  All my body hair – something you haven’t got – was a symbol of my masculinity and it was obvious that it had to go.  And now,” he said, waving a hand as if he had just performed a magic trick, “now, I can approach things in a more submissive – even a more feminine - way.”

 

Thranduil could sort of see what Thorin was driving at but, oh dear me, how he missed all that wonderful silken body hair.  The hair made him different; it made him so – unelven.  And he loved to tug at it whilst they were making love and to feel it tickle his nose and to rub his face against the whole soft pelt.

 

But Thorin was looking so pleased with himself that Thranduil bit his tongue.  “Come on,” whispered the dwarf.  “Let’s try it out.”  And he eagerly wrapped his legs around the elf and pulled him encouragingly into his groin.

 

But Thranduil had a problem.  He discovered that all this bare, smooth flesh beneath him was NOT arousing; nor was Thorin’s sweet compliance.  He was attracted to the dwarf because he was rough and tough and aggressive and very, VERY masculine.  And he had such a wonderful hairy body.  He finally managed to get it up by closing his eyes and only touching the bits of Thorin that _were_ still hairy: his beard and his long, dark locks.

 

As the elf thrust into him, Thorin appeared to be really enjoying himself, wriggling and moaning and begging him to push harder.  And he came very quickly.  Thranduil, on the other hand, needed a lot of filth muttered into his ear before he reached his climax.

 

And after they had both got up two hours later to eat some food, Thorin seemed keen to have another go.  “What do you want?” he asked, running a rough finger down Thranduil’s face as they lay side by side on the pillow.  “Anything and I’ll do it for you.  How do you fancy tying me up?”  But, even that didn’t tempt the elf and all he wanted was to escape into sleep.

 

In the darkness, Thorin grinned to himself.

 

.o00o.

 

The next morning, Thranduil was up and out of the apartment as soon as the sun rose.  “I’ll be down in the Library if you need me,” he called as he disappeared quickly out of the door.  Thorin had to laugh.

 

Dwalin turned up with bits and pieces of equipment a few hours later.  “How’s it going?” he asked with a glint in his eye.

 

“Brilliantly,” said Thorin.  “Are you ready for the next turn of the screw?”  And he sat down in front of a mirror.

 

“Now, are you sure?” asked Dwalin.  “Are you really, really sure?”  And Thorin assured him, without hesitation, that he was.

 

.o00o.

 

When Thranduil returned to the apartment early that evening, he found Thorin standing with his back to him out on the balcony.  He had half expected to find that the dwarf had done something else rather horrid but he was relieved to see that he only appeared to have messed with his hair.  Instead of rough curls there appeared to be shiny ringlets tumbling silkily down his back.  It looked quite girly but at least he hadn’t cut it off!  And he laughed a bit shakily to himself as he thought how awful that would have been.  He must talk to Thorin about these silly ideas before the thought of cutting his hair occurred to him.  And he walked up behind him and slid his arms around his waist.  “Thorin,” he said huskily.

 

The dwarf turned smilingly in his arms – and Thranduil took a step backwards and gave a little shriek.  Thorin had shaved off his beard!  What on earth did he look like with not only that smooth chin but those glossy ringlets bobbing so sweetly about his face?  The elf began to hyperventilate.

 

Thorin’s face dropped.  “So, you don’t like it, then?”

 

“Of course I don’t like it,” yelled Thranduil.  “What on earth did you think you were doing?”

 

Thorin looked sullen.  “Well, since my beard is the ultimate symbol of dwarven masculinity, I decided to sacrifice it in order to save our relationship.”

 

“You fool!” the elven king continued to shout.  “You don’t even look like my Thorin any more.  How on earth do you expect me to take you to my bed when you look like _that_?!”  And he burst into tears.

 

Thorin wondered if he had taken a step too far but he wrapped Thranduil gently in his arms and murmured soothing words in his ear.  The elf wept plaintively on his shoulder.  “I can’t get it up, not with you looking like that, I can’t.    How do you expect me to hold you and kiss you and penetrate you – even look at you – when all that hair is gone?”  You look so – so – _soft_!”  He sniffed.  “And you’re making me feel soft too.”

 

Thorin ground his own hardened member into Thranduil’s belly.  “Well, it hasn’t affected _me_ ,” he said quietly.  And he kissed him hungrily, thrusting his tongue in a suggestive rhythm deep inside his lover’s mouth and edging him across the room until the elf felt his calves touch the bed and he fell backwards with Thorin on top of him.  The dwarf tore at his clothing and finally penetrated him with a groan.

 

The elf clutched at Thorin’s buttocks, pulling the dwarf tightly into him and appreciating the sensation of being filled to the brim by a rather large prick.  “There, push there,” he cried.  “Yes, that’s the spot!  Harder!  Harder!”  Lost completely to the world and overcome by the most exquisite sensations, Thranduil would not have cared one jot at the shame of being penetrated by a dwarf if any of his fellow elves had walked into the room at that moment.  They could stand and gawp and be envious as far as he was concerned, because he definitely had something that none of them had got.  And he finally exploded in the biggest orgasm that he had had in weeks.

 

“That was good, wasn’t it?” grinned Thorin.

 

“Perhaps,” said the elf cautiously, unable, as usual, to concede any point.  “But I can’t look at you, you know.”  And he squeezed his eyes closed.

 

“Well, if I take you from behind, you won’t have to look at me, will you?” said the dwarf cheerfully.   And he flipped him over and proceeded to do precisely that.

 

But when he had finished, Thranduil wept again.  “How could you do that to yourself?  Destroy all your dwarven beauty?”

 

“Don’t be silly,” said Thorin.  It’s already starting to grow back.”  And he scraped a bristly chin across Thranduil’s face.

 

 “Why, so it has!” exclaimed the elven king.  “That feels very arousing, you know.  Do it again.”

 

“Do what again?” grinned Thorin.  “Rub my bristles over you or give you another good fuck?”

 

“Both would be quite nice – if you think you can manage,” said the elf coquettishly and Thorin fell laughingly upon him and demonstrated once more the stamina of dwarves.

 

.o00o.

 

_Next story: The Kings and Lady Dis.  Thorin is getting drunk.  He hasn’t seen his sister, Dis, since he set out on his Quest which finished with the deaths of her two sons.  Now she is coming to visit him and he doesn’t know if he can face her - especially since he has also married her biggest enemy, Thranduil, the elven king.  Can they all be reconciled or will she cause trouble for them both when she arrives?_

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


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